


Think I Love You

by xTheLastOfUs



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eren gets over himself, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, He has tons of tattoos, I plan on adding more to this, Jean is a tattoo artist, Jean is head over heels, Just barely mentioned though, M/M, Marco just tries to keep the peace, Multi, Springles cause they're perfect together, Tattoos, Threesome - M/M/M, Update- more has been added :D, i don't know how to tag so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTheLastOfUs/pseuds/xTheLastOfUs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco promises him that Eren loves him too. But Marco was too nice for his own good and would lie to keep his feelings from being hurt, and that Marco believed in the best of people. Jean knew that. And that's why it hurt so much. </p><p> </p><p>Alternate summary- In which Jean has a lot of tattoos, Eren has to get over himself, and Marco really just wants them all to just get along.</p><p> (Not as lame as it sounds (I hope :d). Also it ends happily. So yay? Terrible at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> So I swear this isn't as terrible as it sounds. Seriously. This is my first SnK fic! Please enjoy it. Also, I apologize for any typos or inconsistencies or whatever else cause I didn't edit this very well. Also I plan on writing more and posting it so I hope you like this ^^  
> Also please excuse the entirely unoriginal title, please!

I am a loser.

I love both of them. With all my heart. Marco, who was sweet and kind and always the one who believed things would work out for the better. And Eren. Bitter, mean, Eren, who I know didn't love me. Just put up with me for Marco, because Marco had made it clear that he wouldn't leave either of us out.

It breaks my heart. Eren and I used to hate each other. And maybe he still hates me. But I don't. I can't. I fell in love with him. With the way he scrunched his nose up when he slept, how he couldn't function without tea in the morning, how his kisses were messy but gentle. I'd only had two of those kinds of kisses from him. Eren made it clear he preferred Marco.

He cuddled Marco all the time. Never me, not even in his sleep. We did anything together, he stuck with Marco. Drew the attention from me to himself. And even so I loved him. Especially the little special smile, close lipped but honest and happy and joyful, the one never directed to me.

Marco told me that Eren loved me as much as he loved Marco himself. That he just had trouble expressing it to me, because we'd been rivals for years. But I couldn't believe that. It'd been clear all along that Eren didn't like me at all.

He didn't agree with my profession. I was a tattoo artist. I was covered in quite a few tattoos myself, all over my body. Just some space across my heart, and a little bit of my back and more of my legs, as well as my neck and head. And piercings- Eren couldn't stand those. I had an eyebrow piercing. He didn't understand the point. He let me know, too.

One day, I'd decided what next I wanted to get done. It was cheesy and stupid and I knew well enough name tattoos were not a very good idea, but I still wanted it. Their names. Tattood across my heart. Who else could fill that space? Just them. Only them. Always, always them. I'd mentioned it to Marco, in passing. Marco, ever the understanding one, was happy with my choice. Supported it, even. It meant something to him; I could see it in the way his eyes sparked up. And he asked me if I mentioned it to Eren. My answer? Of course not.

Within the following days, I'd taken a day off so I could get the work done. Marco was at work until later, would probably be home before I was. And Eren- he had the day off. So, in our shared apartment, it was just us two. Awkward as hell.

I was eating some breakfast before heading out. Eren, just waking up, shuffles in for his tea. I'd already made some for him. He pauses for a moment, sleep-fogged mind struggling to work it out. He glances over at me, sitting and eating toast and pretending I wasn't paying attention. He looks back to the kettle with tea, made just the way he prefers. Then he begrudgingly mutters, "...Thanks, Kirschtein."

I nod. Then I feel stupid, realizing he wasn't looking. So I speak, not really thinking out what I was saying, just knowing I was the slightest bit heartbroken from the Kirschtein bit. "You're welcome. Eren. Why do you refuse to call me by my first name?"

He takes a few moments to answer. He stands on his tip toes, reaching to get a mug from the top shelf. The shirt he was wearing rides up, exposing more of the milky thighs. He was beautiful. Bitterly I note it was Marco's shirt. Not mine. Of course. He spins to get milk from the fridge, green eyes briefly meeting mine before moving on. "'Cause," he answers. "I can."

I nod again. He could see this time. "Right." I stand. I was done eating, and needed to get going. I brush past him to put my plate in the sink. He leans away, pressing himself to the counter so we didn't touch. A twinge in my heart makes me pause for the briefest moment. Then I come crashing back to reality. I nearly slam the plate down, just a little too hard, and I quickly exit the kitchen with my wallet and a set of keys. I wouldn't be back for a while.

\--

The needle doesn't particularly feel good. But it's familiar and steady and soothing. Sasha pauses slightly- dabbing away excess ink- before she presses it to my skin. I sigh a little. She notes this. "Trouble in paradise?" She asks.

I have to force myself not to laugh sharply. Humorlessly. "When isn't there? Marco is still as sweet as ever and Eren would enjoy removing my head from my body. And I'd let him, cause I'm as in love with him as I am Marco. Is that fucked up?" I keep my eyes closed. I can feel the steadiness of the needle and the buzz. It keeps me sane, for that little space in time.

"Yeah." Sasha doesn't hesitate with her answer. We've known each other too long, since we were in kindergarten, for lying. We'd started this little shop together, when we were just twenty. Now we're adults and everything is at least a little fucked up. Sasha, excluding Marco and Eren, is my favorite human being. My best friend, since elementary school in third grade when she adapted to my already bitchy ways and I started giving her my extras at lunch. And whoever's up there knows I don't have many people I care about. "You gonna hang around for a bit?"

"Yeah. Least til Marco is home, has been long enough to calm Eren down. I figure I could finally finish all the paperwork we've got."

Sasha laughs, quiet and bell-like. "Well, I'm not complaining. Gives me more time for Connie." Connie was Sasha's long time boyfriend, a friendly and exuberant guy. The two were perfect together We lapse into silence for a little while longer. Then she finishes. I sit up and open my eyes. I automatically grab the handheld mirror she offers me, leaning back comfortably in my chair and examining her handy work.

"Amazing as always, Sasha." And it really was. Their names, etched into my heart with her twisty, perfect, intricate script. Better than all I'd pictured in my head. She laughs and thanks me and after some conversation and cleaning and applying ointment to my tattoo and wrapping it with bandages, I'm left to my paperwork.

Five hours later and day is bleeding into night. It's eight o'clock when I leave the shop. I'd remove the bandages when I got home and start the aftercare. Marco's been home for at least an hour and everything should be settled. I grab food on the way home, eating by myself (likely they'd already eaten, together), and don't get home until it's fifteen minutes to nine. I walk up to our apartment- a mere three flights- and ignore the sensitivity of my chest. I was more exhausted than I thought. I am as quiet as possible when I enter the apartment, unlocking the door and slipping in quietly. I can hear Eren and Marco talking, but can't quite make out the words. I use my stealth, which was surprisingly reliable, to close the door behind me and creep close enough to the living room, where they are, to make out what they said.

"-and he steals all my fucking cuddles." Eren's voice. The sinking in my stomach begins. "I mean, Marco- I don't know why-"

Marco sounds a little tired. "Eren-"

"Seriously! He's a dick! And he has all those tattoos and those piercings- you know I can't stand those-" I could practically see the disgust on his face. My heart cracks. He was talking about me. My stomach plummets into my feet and my face heats up and tears begin to squeeze from my eyes. I always knew he thought that. But to hear it- Marco is saying something. I can't hear. Can't hear him over the rushing in my ears, can't even begin to process his words with the ripping sensation in my chest. I couldn't just sit here. Couldn't hear this. But I couldn't walk in there. What would I say? And I certainly had no sort of composure right now. 'Yeah, excuse me, just gonna go cry myself to sleep in the guest room. So I don't intrude.' The tattoo on my chest hurt now. Not regret- just the hole in my chest made from having it all confirmed.

I can't stop the first sob that rips itself from my chest, louder than I thought and definitely loud enough for them to hear. The conversation- hardly audible to me in this state- pauses and then I hear Marco. I hear him stand and call out to me, hear the apologies he has to offer. I can hear the hurt in his voice, knowing I was in pain. I turn blindly away- avoiding him, not wanting to see him or to have him see me. I maneuver the door open with one hand, the other pressed to my aching chest, and I don't think I've ever fled a building faster. He follows after me until I hit the staircase- the elevator was occupied and I couldn't afford waiting- and it's only then I look back. And I see Marco- tearing up, calling after me- and Eren drifting just behind, looking lost. My broken heart lurches, twists around in my chest. It all hurt. My eyes meet Eren's vibrant green orbs for just the slightest second, the lost look still there, before I turn back to watch where I'm going. And I don't stop until I'm far enough away that I don't feel their gazes on me anymore.

I reach the shop just as Sasha was closing up. I stumble inside, bawling my eyes out and babbling away. My words were broken and I couldn't stop and calm down. Sasha drops everything she's doing, swooping upon me and hugging me close. "Jean," she breathes, "what happened?"

I shake my head. "E-eren- and M-Marco-" I break off. I thought the first sob, standing there in the entrance way to our- or maybe their- apartment, would be the worst. That after that one, it wouldn't cause so much pain, mentally and emotionally and physically. That it'd get easier. But I was wrong. I'd never been more wrong. 

She rubs soothing circles on my back. "Jean- I need you to calm down..." Her voice is soothing. I feel like I'm hyperventilating- my breath was hard to catch, lungs burning. Sasha just stands there with me, hugging me, keeping me close. Comforting me like only a best friend could. I don't know how long we stand there. It's a while before I can breathe even close to properly. But Sasha remains patient, and eventually I can force words out.

"I-I just... got home. And Marco and E-eren were talking in the living room-m... and t-they were talking about me." I pause here and have to calm.myself down some before continuing. "Eren said I stole all the cuddles and that I was a dick and that I had a bunch of tattoos and piercings and that Marco knows how he feels about those- t-then I broke the fuck down and left and Marco followed cause he could hear me crying and Eren followed too but only cause Marco was upset and Marco was apologizing and telling me to come back and Eren just looked lost and- and I can't go back, not now." I break out into a fresh round of tears. 

Sasha is still hugging me. "Oh, Jean, you can stay with me as long as you want. Let's go to my apartment. And we can take the day off tomorrow and eat ice cream on the couch and watch soap operas, just like in high school and college." I accept and we go to her apartment. She doesn't have a guest bedroom. It's almost midnight and I'm exhausted and I sit on her couch after taking care of my tattoo- the tattoo I still cared about- and fall asleep practically as soon as I draw a blanket around me.

\--

The following week is terrible. Every day Marco and Eren call, leaving assorted voicemails. I talk a little bit to Marco and explain that right now I just needed time away and that it would all be okay. He still sounds majorly upset, but he accepts my explanation and agrees to stop excessively calling. All of Eren's voicemails focused on the fact my absence was messing with Marco.

I feel like a zombie, honestly. But inking up my customers- it was soothing. To utilize such art- because tattoos were definitely artwork- was like therapy. It calmed me down and gave me something to focus on. I dove into my work and didn't have a single mess up. That wasn't to say I normally did, but I still felt a peace of mind from knowing this relationship issue wasn't messing with my work.

That weekend Marco has to attend a funeral, a few states away. It was for a family member he'd never met, so he wasn't too torn up about it. But he texts me and lets me know Eren would be working most of the weekend, would barely be home, so it would be safe for me to return. And the Friday he leaves, a certain someone enters the shop with a friend.

Eren clearly was uncomfortable. He was with Armin, one of his closest friends. I'd met him way back in kindergarten too, so we were on relatively friendly terms. He'd been interested in a tattoo, we'd been talking about it for weeks and had met in person several times to design his piece. Finally after settling upon a sketch I did (and that sketch took a couple of hours) we'd set up an appointment. Friday at 11. He asked if he could bring a friend along, for support, and I said yes. I didn't think it'd be Eren, for whatever reason. 

After a briefly awkward conversation about the process we'd go through, during which I'd gotten looks from Eren, I settle him and Eren in a booth towards the back and then make my way to the design station. I'd finished the sketch for him a week or so ago, heavy upon detail as per Armin's request, and then return to them. Armin sits on the tattoo chair, Eren sitting in a simple chair situated near Armin's shoulder. I take my place upon the backless rolling chair.

I hand over the sketch, confirming that it was what he wanted. Armin and Eren both seemed in awe over my apparent artistic skill- admittedly, I am slightly bothered by their surprise. This was only what I did for a living. Even though Eren still wasn't into tattoos, he managed to push that aside and offer constructive criticism to Armin. They decided upon it as definitely the one Armin wanted, and then I set everything up. It takes a few minutes and Eren watches me carefully. Probably trying to find something wrong with what I did.

Armin isn't nervous. But Eren is. "Will it hurt?" He asks. It takes me a few more moments than it should to realize he was actually asking me. I remain calm though, settling down in my seat. I'd already prepared everything. Now I just had to start.

"Everyone's tolerance level is different," I explain, and I'm acutely aware of how professional I sound. "I can't speak for Armin. I imagine it'll hurt, not too terribly but it won't feel great. Especially on the shoulder blades, there's not so much padding there. Tattoos mostly hurt where the skin is close to the bone, like on ankles or wrists or ribs. And when you cross over the same place, like corners. For me, it's like someone pinching me."

Eren hums in response and we fall into silence. Because this piece was heavy on detail and colors, my specialty, it would take hours upon end. I guessed at least fifteen. We'd be doing it in much smaller increments. The only noise is the buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe an hour into my work- Eren and Armin had been talking, Eren analyzing my every action, and Armin telling him how it felt. 

Then Eren asks me another question. "How long did it take to design this? A couple hours?" 

I glance up at him briefly, making eye contact. His green orbs were inquisitive. "Just this actual sketch, maybe four hours. But throw in all the ones before it, then much more. Plus, I've been talking with Armin about this for many, many weeks. At least two months."

He seems shocked. "You... did all this... yourself?"

I snort derisively. "Yeah, this is only what I do for a living. Only what I've been doing for years. Listen, Eren, being a tattoo artist, it's not trivial or easy. This is serious fucking work. I am creating pieces of art and putting them permanently upon people. I know you think I'm a dick, and you probably think I don't take anything seriously enough. But this- is my life. And I don't fuck around."

He falls into silence. And he doesn't say anything else to me the rest of the time that they are there.

\-- 

That night I return to the apartment. Eren was at work and would be for several more hours. Long enough for me to shower and get clean clothes and do some laundry. And relax and break down again.

First I start a load of laundry. Then I clean up the kitchen, doing all the dishes and wiping down the counters and stove. I make sure they have enough to eat. And upon seeing they were running out, I make a grocery list and go to the store. I make sure to get extra coffee and bread for Marco, and tea and oatmeal for Eren. They'd need it. When I get back, I put up all the groceries (it takes two trips) and tidy the living room. I remove the laundry, fresh sheets and a comforter, from the dryer and make the bed after starting another load, this time of clothes. That leaves the bedroom and bathroom to be cleaned, so I get to that too. I mop and sweep and vacuum and straighten up and clean things off.

Then I take a shower. I use Marco's soap and Eren's shampoo, because I missed those smells, the unique ones that they had. I spend a while soaking, just standing in the water. I was so tired. But I needed to hurry up and get out, so I could get dressed and leave. I'd been here for hours, and Eren was due home in about two. And I wanted out by then.

I get out of the shower, toweling dry and putting on sweat pants. I needed to put on some lotion, for the tattoo on my chest. Then I could finish getting dressed, pack the rest of my things, and get the fuck out of here before Eren returned. I've gotten halfway through applying lotion when I hear the jingle of keys and the sound of Eren coming home. Mentally I am flipping the fuck out. What should I do? Announce myself?

Probably.

I peer out into the living room, scanning it carefully. There was the couch, the coffee table, the entertainment system with the TV and PS3 and CDs and video games. I feel like kicking myself. Or beating my head against the wall. "Um, Eren?" I call out. There is the brief sound of someone shuffling around in the kitchen. Then the brunette emerges, looking tired and somewhat confused. He spots me and begins approaching. I straighten up. "Listen, Eren, I'm sorry. I'll be leaving soon, I promise-"

His eyes narrow in on my chest. The tattoo. His name. For the briefest moment I feel hope that he'll finally stop being so difficult well up in my chest. That notion's promptly crushed to a pulp when he simply shrugs his shoulders and turns away, going back into the kitchen. I sigh just the littlest bit before going back into the bathroom. I really did need to leave. Sasha would be expecting me soon enough, and I had a full day of work tomorrow so I needed to get some sleep. \--


	2. Acknowledgement and Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt follows acknowledgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter. Likely I will add something else to this, such as a smut chapter or something, but it will be independently posted and will be able to be read individually. Thanks for reading ^^ I hope you enjoy it! Sorry for the unoriginal chapter name.

Eren's POV

When he left, it felt a little odd.

Not necessarily in a bad way, because I still maintained my extreme hatred of him, but just... odd. Marco was certainly upset about it all, and I understood, logically, why. I just didn't personally care about the horseface's feelings. I just cared because Marco did and I definitely cared about Marco. It affected Marco badly and that definitely made me feel like an asshole. Particularly because of the tattoo. It was my fucking name, and I did happen to realize the significance of that. It made guilt curl in my stomach- the day he left, Marco mentioned to me Jean was getting another tattoo. And he hadn't had that one before. It was a few days old at least, too. And I wasn't so dumb as to not realize that he'd gotten it the day he left. I wasn't so awful a person as to not feel at least somewhat guilty about what he did when I only was a bitch in return. Didn't change the fact I hated him. Just, I could be better about it. Less cruel.

Before he left that night I told him he should come back home. Sure, I didn't make eye contact or anything. But I said it and I am proud of that much. And the way I said it- awkward, but hell, the words felt foreign on my lips.

"You... Should come back home soon. Marco really wants you to. He misses you. And I... Want you to come home soon."

I could appreciate him for the fact he opted not to call me out on what he surely recognized as a massive bluff, saying and implying that even I myself wanted him back, considered him an essential part of the household. He could've pushed me further into the foreign, painfulsensation of guilt that accompanied my being a massive prick. Instead he just gave me one of the saddest, smallest little smiles before telling me he would 'think about it'. And I didn't even say anything, just watched as he scooped his bag up in his muscled arms, tattoos standing out proudly against his lightly tanned skin, and left, closing the front door behind him. At this point I had expressed too much emotion and had been thinking far too much for me to even process his reaction as well as I probably should've. Also my day had been far too fucking long for me todeal. So I just stuffed my food down my throat and collapsed onto the bed, inhaling deeply after realizing the bed sheets had been freshly washed with my favorite lavender detergent. I dismissed this with the reason of being far too exhausted for it to truly matter.

Marco comes back home the following Sunday. Jean still hasn't returned, but I know Marco was talking to him on the phone and that could mean maybe he was coming back soon. And sure enough, when I get home from work the next day, I find the two of them on the couch together. They weren't doing anything sexual, just wrapped up with each other and holding on. My stomach drops to my feet at how perfect they look together and at the desire to be involved in that,even if Jean was there too. And then the sickest thought occurs to me- this longing, it's how Jean must feel all the time when I pull Marco away from him.

God, I really was a bitch.

When Jean sees me he immediately extracts himself, rising up and standing. He smiles a little at me, like he always does when I come home. "I hope your day was good. I'll go make dinner." And this is what he always said to mewhen I came home. He always made dinner, always greeted me. I hadn't realized it but he was so much kinder than I was. Then he goes into the kitchen.

Marco's risen up and as I turn to gaze at him I catch a look of sadness in his eyes. It's gone as quick as I spot it and he's hugging me, wrapping his warm, strong arms around me and kissing me lightly on the forehead, then the lips. "Go get ready for dinner," he tells me, voice low and warm in my ear, and I do as he says.

By the time I emerge from our bathroom, freshly showered and significantly more relaxed, Jean has finished making dinner- lasagna, one of my favorite foods. And I knew he didn't like it. But he just offered me a plate and I took it, going into the living room and settling in my usual spot on the couch. On the coffee table before me sat a mug of tea, made the way Ipreferred. I feel even more guilt when I realize it was probably Jean who made the tea.

Marco settles in his usual spot next to me, in the middle of the sofa. Jean normally sat on Marco's other side, away from me but still near Marco. This time however he sits in the armchair away from both of us. His normally muscular frame seems so tiny, so insignificant and broken sitting in the massive armchair that seemingly swallowed him up. So fucking alone. And the guilt hits me in the stomach double the strength it was before.

"Jean?" Marco asks after a moment. "Jean, baby, why are you sitting there?" Marco sounds a little lost, sort of the way I feel. Jean just shrugs his shoulders and smiles the same goddamn little smile as he has been for the past few days. He's also eating quickly, scarfing down his food like he hadn't eaten for days. Like he just wanted the fuck out of this room. He finishes eating in record time. "Baby, please-" Marco's voice is more than lost, now. It's pleading, begging, the kind of tone that dug the feeling of guilt in, ingrained it into my soul. I was a prick. That's what the tone was telling.

"Marco," he says, voice just as strange and heartbroken,"you know. Youknow why." Then his hand flies up to his mouth, covering it, like he wanted to stop the words from ever emerging.And there's something in the way his eyes are downcast that really strikes a note in me.

Like he was going to cry. And I'd only ever seen him cry a handful of times before. I was probably the reason for a lot of those times.

He sets his plate down on the coffee table and rises unsteadily to his feet, his frame seemingly trembling. From what I can only assume is the effort not to break completely. Because of me. He turns and practically stumbles from the room, heading down the hall. He goes into the guest room, closes the door behind him. Marco's already risen up too, but Jean is quicker and gets inside before Marco can stop him. Then Marco's gaze turns to me, eyes boring a hole into my head and I feel completely worthless. That look- that fucking look- makes me die a little on the inside.

\--

The guilt works on burning a hole through my stomach for approximately three days before I break completely.

When I come home on the third day, I overhear something that changes me.

I am quiet when I enter. I'd worked an extra shift and didn't get home until late, when Marco and Jean were normally asleep. I didn't want to wake them up by being loud. I'd been causing enough problems lately. But when I enter I do not hear the normal silence. I hear Jean and Marco talking to each other.

"Marco... He doesn't." Jean's voice is easy to distinguish.

"Yes. Baby, he does... He just isn't good at showing emotions. You know that." So is Marco's.

"He doesn't seem to have a problem when it comes to anyone else, especially you. I mean,c'monMarco. You know that." Jean seems really upset.

"I'm serious! He does! He might not even know it himself but Jean,Erendoes love you!" Marco's voice is louder now, obviously protesting.

The next sentences Jean speaks sound... Broken. "He doesn't. I love both of you so fucking much it hurts and he just... Shit, Marco, sweetheart, it's okay. Come here. No, no, it's okay. Really, it is. I've gotten used to it. Still... Hurts... But it's okay, cause even if he doesn't love me I don't need him to. I can still love him just the same without any reciprocation. I mean, it would be nice, but I gave up on that dream of him loving me like he loves you a long time ago... Plus, he's too stubborn to just change his feelings like that,and he wouldn't beErenif it weren't for that." He trails off towards theend and his voice fades out softly, and it occurs to me that the muffled noises were him. He was crying. And it's there, in the entryway to our shitty little apartment that I,ErenJaeger, realize that I am in fucking love with JeanKirschtein, the man I swore I would never feel anything for.

And it was me. I was the one who made him feel so hopeless, broke him enough I made him cry. The overwhelming need to correct what I've done. To prove to Jean Marco was right and that I loved him just as much as Marco. Sure I still wasn't too apt to enjoy tattoos but if they were on Jean or created by his hands, then I would love them endlessly. I was the one this whole time who was in the wrong. He'd been trying so hard for me and I was a selfish brat who couldn't appreciate, accept and return that. And the fucking longer I sat around and let him think he wasn't loved by me the worse it was.

I drop my bag as that realization comes crashing down upon me. Right now. Fixing this couldn't wait anymore. I couldn't stand here and keep hearing Jean cry.My feet, already free of my shoes, carry me to the kitchen. That's where they were.

My bag clattering to the floor, combined with the creaking of the floorboards from my heavy footsteps as I ran to the kitchen, announce my presence. By the time I reach the kitchen Jean's already started wiping away his tears from gorgeous reddened honey colored eyes, the orbs shining like they were ethereal even in the shitty fluorescent lighting, using the back of his hands. His hands- I wanted those hands to decorate me, to cover me in ink, something important to me. Like his name, his and Marco's. Because maybe I hadn't realized his meaning to me until he was broken, but now that I realized what it meant to me I never wanted to let him go, to ever let him be broken again. The broken piece would always be a part of him, and that was okay. But it didn't have to be the most important part. It didn't have to be all of him.

My chest is heaving from the effort it's taking me not to break down and cry and I know the moment I'm held by him, my arms around him, all of my efforts not to cry will be completely useless and I'll lose it. I don't care at all, not even a little bit. I welcome it.

I know my voice shakes, threatens to break. "Jean!" I cry out. I throw myself forward, jumping into his arms. Instinctively he catches me and I bury my head into the crook of his neck, his skin warm and soft and inviting and everything I didn't even realize I wanted and needed and adored.

"Eren?" His voice is full of shock and surprise and disbelief. I nod, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin.

"I love you," I sob, tears wetting my cheeks. "Really I do. And I-I know I'm a piece of shit and awful and the biggest asshole in the world and I didn't realize til now that I did but I do love you so much, as much as I love Marco and that's endlessly and I can't expect you to believe me at all because why would you when I'm such a bitch and I don't deserve you at all and your tattoos are some of the hottest things I have ever seen in my entire life, as hot as Marco's freckles, and your piercings are still a little weird to me but they're a part of you and God do I love you completely. You can have all of Marco's cuddles because they're wonderful and you deserve them so much, all of them, even mine because I'm trash and fucking hell, I love you I love you I love you-"

I pull away. My legs are wrapped around his hips, arms around his neck. His strong, muscled arms were holding me up, supporting me. I was shit with words, that much was clear. He looked bewildered but there was the flickering of hope evident on his features. I still didn't feel like my point had gotten across enough. So I kiss him, the sort of kiss where there's pure emotion. I put every feeling I had into that kiss, every single thing I wanted to tell him but couldn't find the words for. I could only hope he was getting the message.

He doesn't kiss back and dread seeps into my chest. I pull away, out of breath, and lock eyes with him. His lower lip trembles slightly, and he's clearly in a state of shock "Eren?" He asks, one hand raising up and slowly, cautiously brushing some of my hair away from my eyes. I needed to get it cut, but Marco could easily handle that. He did cut hair for a living. And Jean needed a haircut, too, I realize, running my fingers up the back of his head. My fingertips brushed past the grown out parts of his undercut into the longer, bleached hair on the top of his head. I brush away the longer bits of his fringe with my left hand, the other hand resting on the back of his neck.

"Jean," I murmur, my voice sounding weak in my ears. He leans forward, hesitant yet hopeful. His lips hover just above mine and I lean forward so our lips met. He presses his lip against me, putting his emotion into the kiss, and I kiss back. My tongue darts out, licking his lower lip. He opens his mouth and I can feel his free hand wiggle a little until he had a firm grasp on my ass, squeezing and kneading the soft skin. He knew my ass was particularly sensitive. I feel warmth begin to pool in my stomach, moaning into the kiss a little. His teeth graze my tongue, sending the sweetest tingling sensation through my chest.

We pull away for breath and I rest my head against his chest. I feel shaky and I'm crying enough it's making my heading hurt. He's cradling me to his chest and it feels amazing to be held by him like this. He rubs soothing circles on my back, his warm hands heavy and reassuring on my skin.

"I love you guys so much," Marco pants breathlessly, voice soft and joyful. I turn my head to face him, still resting on Jean's chest. He has both hands pressed to his chest, at the edge of his collarbones. The biggest grin ever is on his face. He practically jumps forward, taking the two of us into his arms and giving us a bearhug. Through all of this Jean held me, supported me. I must be getting heavy, but I don't want him to let go of me.

After a few minutes of hugging I begrudgingly slide out of his arms and back into a standing position. I was feeling the aftereffects of my intense sob session, my cheeks warm and body affected by that weird sort of ache. I keep one arm around each of them, keeping them together. It was nice to finally be able to say that. Together. All three of us.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> This has been edited from the original to allow for the updated, longer version (:   
> Thanks to survey-corps-ftw!


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